


expectant

by flowermasters



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Married Life, Possessive Sex, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, the only littler shit than steve rogers is peggy carter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowermasters/pseuds/flowermasters
Summary: “If you’re going to make me say it,” Peggy says, “I want to be close to my husband. I must say I miss the chap.”
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 168





	expectant

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I don't know what corner of my brain this came out of, but. Here it is.

“Steve,” Peggy says, “would you come here, please?”

Steve looks up from his magazine and raises his eyebrows at her from where he sits, leaning his back against the headboard a mere foot away from her in their bed. Peggy, for her part, has already closed her novel and set it carefully aside on the nightstand, rather intent on not losing her place. It’s happened before.

When Peggy just raises her eyebrows at him in return, Steve gives a quiet, fond huff and leans to the left in order to kiss her lightly on the mouth. Peggy has to suppress a laugh. “No,” she says. “I meant come over here.”

“I’ll come wherever you want me to,” Steve says, dirty and silly in a way he only ever is in quiet moments, and Peggy rolls her eyes with a smile.

“Yes, well,” she says, passing a hand over the rounded curve of her stomach, “that much is obvious.”

Steve’s eyes track the movement automatically, and Peggy tamps down on a grin. She and Steve are rather more direct with each other now than they ever were during the war—death and several years in between will do that to people, it seems—but it’s still fun to toy with him a bit sometimes. “If you’re going to make me say it,” Peggy says, fidgeting purposefully with the topsheet, “I want to be close to my husband. I must say I miss the chap.”

Steve glances back up to meet her gaze. His ability to hold a straight face in this moment is sort of admirable, really, given the obvious amusement sparking in his eyes. “Some fella you’ve got,” he says mildly, “if he keeps you waiting.”

He leans in to kiss her again and Peggy takes the opportunity to gently grab at his upper arm, coaxing him closer. He rolls onto his side, closing the space between them, and they kiss for a few moments longer, languid and slow, delightful. But they’ve kissed like this plenty of times in the past few months, and Peggy’s grown a bit—restless, of late.

She squeezes his arm again, and he shifts without breaking the kiss, obligingly moving over her, holding himself up on his forearms and knees. He doesn’t let his weight press down on her as he normally would, which, she supposes, is for her own good—her breasts are too tender and belly too round now for too much of that to be comfortable. But she wouldn’t mind a _little_ , really.

She moves her hand from his arm to his shoulder blade, then lets it gently follow his spine down to the small of his back, which she applies the barest amount of pressure to. “Peggy,” he mumbles, kissing the side of her mouth lightly, sort of consolingly.

“Steve,” she says, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, even as a certain amount of fondness for him swells in her chest. He’s not quite the man she fell in love with, more worldly now and certainly more weary, but his sweetness endures. “You heard Dr. Nielsen. It’s fine.”

Steve came with her to a recent check-up, something which had surprised Peggy—albeit not nearly as much as it had seemed to surprise the staff at Nielsen’s office. “Do men do that often, in the next century?” Peggy had asked when Steve seemed to expect an invitation. “Hmm. Seems a rather small price to pay, given what _I’m_ expected to do at the end of all this.”

But Steve had come, which meant he’d been standing by, not blushing as he once might’ve—but also not making direct eye contact—as Dr. Nielsen informed them that, with a bit of caution, sexual relations would be perfectly fine. And Steve _has_ been kind and supportive through all of it, waking up with her at four o’clock in the morning every time morning sickness has reared its foul head and rubbing her swollen feet and generally being a dear. Truthfully speaking, Peggy hasn’t felt much in the way of ardor for the last several months, but the second trimester, she’s heard, is often a respite in the midst of the first and third; it would be foolish, she thinks, not to take advantage of it.

“Yeah, I heard,” Steve says, drawing back slightly to look at her. A lock of hair falls delicately across his forehead, glinting blond in the light from the lamp next to the bed. “But Dr. Nielsen doesn’t know that I’m not exactly an average guy.”

“Oh, far from it,” Peggy says, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“I don’t—that’s not what I meant, but you’re kinda helping my case, here,” he says. He shifts as though to move from overtop her. Peggy lets her hand move down from the small of his back to cup one cheek of his ass, a gesture which predictably stills him.

“Steve,” she says, squeezing slightly, subtly enough that he seems not to notice. “You’ve been an angel, these past few months.”

Steve blinks at her, surprised, but can’t help but look rather pleased, his kissed-pink mouth quirking slightly. “I just want to be here for you,” he says. “It takes two to tango, and all.”

“Yes,” Peggy says, wisely resisting the urge to make a joke about all the tangoing they’ve been missing out on. “But I can’t help but feel that you’ve been holding yourself back, and I don’t want you to.”

Steve leans in to kiss at her cheek and jaw, probably so that he doesn’t have to hold eye contact while he tries to let her down gently. “I don’t want to risk hurting you,” he confesses. “Or the baby.”

She knows, of course, that that’s why he’s been so cautious, so reserved with her. He’s been affectionate, of course, his kisses freely given, but the handful of attempts they’ve made at lovemaking in the last two or three months have been brief, gentle, and largely without penetration, either because Peggy’s felt too sick or because Steve has politely insisted on doing something else. He’s never said in so many words that he doesn’t want her to overexert herself, likely because he knows that actually saying so would practically seal his fate, but she’s been able to hear it all the same.

“You haven’t hurt me before now,” Peggy says reasonably, although it’s hard to sound reasonable when Steve is kissing at the tender spot just behind her ear. “Alright, I’ll admit the size of it did take some getting used to, but I’m quite comfortable with it now.”

“Peggy,” Steve says, pulling away slightly so as not to laugh directly into her ear.

Peggy waits till he quiets down, then reaches up with her free hand to touch his jaw, enjoying the way his beard feels against her palm. “It’ll be alright, darling. I promise.”

He turns his head in order to press a kiss to her palm, his blue eyes catching on hers. She’s always loved the lighting in this little bedroom, but it does wonders for Steve. “You’d tell me, right?” he says, murmuring this now against her wrist. “If it was too much, or if I—”

“Steve,” Peggy says. “When have you ever known me not to voice my displeasure? With anything?”

Steve grins. “My girl? Never.”

Peggy grins back at him, pleased as ever to be referred to in such a manner, the thrill just the same as the one she gets when she calls Steve _darling_ or _dear_ and he responds only with a _yes?_ When he kisses her now there’s substantially more heat to it, open-mouthed and a little biting. She arches like a cat under him, delighted, and he gives a quiet hum against her mouth.

Steve runs so hot that he prefers to sleep shirtless, something which Peggy feels she might always be grateful for. She lets her fingers flirt with the waistband of his pajama pants, but he pulls back only to peel up her nightgown, which she obligingly tugs the rest of the way off.

Steve blinks. “You usually wear underwear to bed,” he says. “Don’t you?”

Peggy grins. “Perhaps I’ve fallen out of the habit in the last few months. You wouldn’t know.”

“Hell, I’m never going to live this down, am I,” he says wryly, even as he kisses his way down to her breasts. They’re more sensitive now, and Steve is obligingly gentle with them, though still thorough as ever. Peggy rests one of her hands on the back of his golden head, holding him against her, relishing in the attention after months without the real, concentrated passion she’s grown spoiled for.

Steve scoots down slightly, pushing the covers wholly away to give himself breathing room, and runs a hand gently over her belly, letting his palm rest there as he coaxes her legs apart with the other. The gold of his wedding band glints against her skin, reflecting the lamplight. 

Peggy is, acknowledgedly, far and away the more jealous of the two of them, and has been since well before he was hers, but Steve isn’t without a possessive streak of his own; the casual protectiveness of his hand resting on her like this speaks volumes, even if he’s quiet. 

“You want to know what I think?” Peggy asks.

“Always,” Steve says, letting his fingers dip between her thighs. “And I know you’d tell me even if I didn’t.”

“I think you rather enjoy me like this,” Peggy says, sighing softly as he slips first one finger into her and then another. She’s slick already, all worked up just for a bit of necking.

“Well, I like you every way.”

“Oh, I know, you sweet-talker,” Peggy says, and lets her hands come up to cup her breasts, enjoying the way Steve’s eyes flit to them automatically. They’re heavier and fuller now than they’ve ever been— _she’s_ heavier and fuller than she’s ever been, and it’s only going to get more obvious as the months pass. “But surely it’s a little exciting? Me getting so round, with your child.”

Steve’s eyes have gone very dark. “Our child,” he says, curling his fingers.

“ _Yes_ ,” Peggy sighs. She lets one hand fall to clasp at his where it rests on her stomach. “Ours. You haven’t answered my question.”

“Maybe a little,” he says, the edge of a taunt in his voice, and oh, she likes him sweet, a little supplicant, but it’s always good when he gets like this, cocksure and teasing. He leans his head down then, licking into her easily, and she moans, practically overjoyed for the feeling. 

It’s been so long and she’s so sensitive for the scrape of his beard that she can’t bear much of it; she comes with an embarrassing whimper, unconsciously tugging at his hair until she remembers herself. Steve never seems to mind that sort of thing, and if anything, enjoys it—the look he gives her afterwards is heady, his pupils fat and cheeks flushed. 

“Well,” Peggy says. “I do hope you’re not going to keep me waiting _too_ much longer.”

Steve crawls back up her body and allows Peggy to shove his pants and shorts down until he takes over and shimmies out of them. He kisses her neck lightly, then nudges one of her hips with a hand. “Turn over,” he says, “like this.”

Peggy rolls onto her side, hitching one of her legs up to allow him access, and is quickly grateful for Steve’s foresight; the slide of him into her isn’t as deep as it would be otherwise, but this position allows him to put more weight behind his thrusts than face-to-face would, given Peggy’s present state. Steve gives a soft grunt, eyes closing and brows drawing together sweetly, and doesn’t wait for instruction before beginning to move—Peggy finds herself quite pleased with him, all things considered.

It’s not going to take long, judging by the flush that’s spreading down his broad chest; Peggy doesn’t mind, and squirms a hand eagerly between her legs to speed things along for herself. He grunts again when he feels her fingers brush against him, too. “Steve,” she says after a few moments, craning her neck, “look at me.”

He opens his eyes, snapping his hips a little harder, perhaps unconsciously, and Peggy gasps. “You’re always beautiful,” he tells her, holding her gaze. “Beautiful, sweetheart, and mine, my wife—”

“Steve,” Peggy says, unable to help it, and Steve pushes in as deep as he can and comes with a soft noise, hips twitching as he rides it out. As always, Peggy feels a strange surge of protectiveness watching him like this, vulnerable and open, all hers; she moves her fingers more quickly, squeezing around him, and Steve seems to remember himself. He gives her a few more steady thrusts, though she knows him well enough to know he must be oversensitive enough to be just shy of pain—but then, Steve never really has known when to quit, has he?

More than anything, it’s the sight of him, his mouth hanging open, slack and sweet, that tips her off the edge. Once she’s stopped trembling through it, Steve gently disengages, letting go of what had moments before been a tight grip on the back of her knee. “Feel alright?” he asks, sitting back on his haunches.

Peggy opens her eyes and lifts her head, trying to muster some dignity here. “Peachy,” she says. “Soon to be a bit sticky, though.”

Steve makes a vaguely apologetic face and gets up from the bed, padding naked from the room. He returns a moment later with a wet cloth and—bless him—a glass of cold water. She’s developed such a peculiar taste for ice, of all things. And potato crisps. 

Once the draft in the room begins to make itself known, Peggy pulls the sheets back over herself, content to lie naked and bask for a little while. Steve, having—much to her despair—put his shorts back on before getting into bed, seems vaguely amused by the whole thing, watching her make herself comfortable with raised eyebrows.

“What?” Peggy asks. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I took necessary and appropriate action. You’d have kept us both chaste until the baby’s out of nappies.”

“You look like the cat that got the cream, is all,” Steve says, shrugging a little. Then: “Don’t you dare make a joke about that.”

Peggy raises her eyebrows. “I wasn’t going to, you beast.”

Steve grins, and Peggy rolls her eyes and turns over. She opens her mouth to ask, but Steve doesn’t give her a chance, scooting up behind her and putting an arm around her middle.

“And the little one?” he asks after a moment, mumbling this into her hair. His thumb rubs an absent-minded circle against her belly. “Doing okay?”

“Mm,” Peggy says, closing her eyes, feeling warm and golden all over. “Perfectly fine, my darling. Just fine.”


End file.
